Shadows to Ashes

by Tori de Clare

  Life before the emptiness of separation; she could scarcely imagine it here. Back then, she’d had a future. Here, there was nothing, not even fear. She couldn’t raise the energy to be afraid anymore. Too much had happened. Her opportunity today had gone, her one chance to stand up for Dan, to make a difference. This guy wished her no harm. He was just a thief, common and contemptable. Money was all he wanted. When he’d told her that, she accepted it. Just like that. She sensed no monster within. What she did sense was that he was on a job. Just another day to him. Naomi wondered who had hired him, which led to Solomon again and to her clutching her hair in frustration.

  She hated Solomon, if hate was strong enough. What words were there for a man who’d stolen her future and hauled an innocent person in front of a judge and jury?

  She couldn’t think of Dan in prison. Dan! The injustice raked her insides as she lay on the narrow bed, darkness clinging to her, damp and close. The scent of coal had disappeared. It still sat there beside her in a heap of course, thousands of chunks, patient and still. In the making for millions of years, what was another day in the queue for burning? Naomi had grown used to the scent. But she knew her fingernails were still lined with the grime of coal dust. She’d seen it.

  He’d come for her when he’d called Henry. She’d heard the bolt crash and then the ceiling opened its mouth. Like a broad white smile, the daylight flooded in. And his shoes appeared and then his legs. He demanded that she turn away from him and she complied. And she hated herself in that moment more than she hated Solomon. He was armed only with the pillowcase, which he’d pulled roughly over her head. She didn’t dare to fight.

  He’d taken her arm then and led her up the eleven stone steps – she counted every one – always a step behind. She could see her own feet as she made the ascent into daylight. The grey concrete steps tipped her into the kitchen, where the air was saturated with the smell of old chip pan oil that made her want to retch. Her head was down so she could watch where she was walking. She had a view of tired terracotta tiles, some of them cracked and broken, framed with black filler. He’d steered her toward a table and told her to sit beside it.

  He’d sat next to her in silence and calmly said, ‘This is the part where we call your dad and tell him what we want.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘I hope you’re never as desperate as me, Naomi. Still, no one has kids unless they can afford them, right?’

  ‘Wrong.’

  He was softly spoken. Well spoken, even. The whole day had a surreal quality, like she was out of body, watching someone else. His smooth voice only added to that feeling.

  ‘Well, in your case –’

  ‘In my case, my dad shouldn’t have to buy me for two million.’

  ‘Well, needs must. Your job is to tell him that you’re fine. That’s what he’ll be interested in. The fee will be a detail only. He won’t even be listening to the amount.’

  ‘Whatever, just call him. I want my family to know I’m alive. They’ve been through enough.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  It was then that she felt the tears approach. She blinked them away and said nothing more.

  He knew her, she was sure. Knew everything about her, just like Solomon. Just like Nathan when she met him, in the days when her life was like The Truman Show. Staged. People watching her. Everyone in on the details of her day except for her. Played and betrayed, that was her life then. And here she was on the chess board again when she’d never agreed to the game. In check. Nowhere to go. Losing.

  She couldn’t see anything unless her head was bowed. Then she could see his shoes beside hers. She couldn’t jab him with her heel, not sitting like this. She couldn’t do anything but listen.

  She heard the faint sound of his fingers or thumbs tapping the glass screen of her phone.

  Then, suddenly, ‘Henry, I have Naomi. Be assured she’s safe and well. Two million for her return.’

  He sounded like a salesman selling a tumble dryer. No attempt to disguise his voice. Naomi was clasping her hands together when she felt the phone nudge against them.

  ‘He’d like a word with you.’

  Naomi felt her phone being shoved into her hand. She awkwardly held it to her ear though her head was still covered. She wasn’t quite as unruffled as she thought. She found her hands were trembling.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Oh, Naomi, you’ve no idea –’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, Dad, honestly. I’m fine.’

  And that was it. The phone was pulled sharply away and she felt a lump swelling in her throat. She tried to swallow it away.

  ‘Two million. I’ll call back.’

  And Henry was cut off. Gone.

  Naomi imagined him sitting at home, dissolving into tears of relief and trepidation.

  ‘Well done,’ he said, in his quiet, patronising tone that reminded her too much of . . . She hated to say his name, even in her mind, Vincent Solomon.

  It made her want to yell at him and scream out all her thoughts, what he’d done, what he’d deprived her of when he had no right. Was it this guy or Solomon she wanted to rip apart? She hated them both. They were merging into one beneath the pillowcase where her only view was of floor and feet. This man had no face, so whenever he spoke, she saw only Solomon.

  Naomi didn’t reply. She didn’t even know why she said nothing, did nothing. Her arms and legs were free. She could have lashed out, tried to get away, done something.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, ‘All the doors and windows are locked and I’m highly trained in martial arts. OK?’

  Which was why he didn’t even feel the need to restrain her. That was what it was, this calm tone, all silk and no edges, no disguise – it was confidence. Complete, total and absolute. Naomi didn’t respond. She felt too numb. Strangely, his last statement didn’t worry her, it caused her to slump in her seat and unlock her muscles. She needn’t psyche herself up for a fight. There wouldn’t be one. She was finished. Dan was finished. Hope was gone.

  She almost didn’t care where they were going when he led her from the table to a downstairs toilet. She used it. That was when she noticed the blackness of her hands and the dirt inside her nails. She scrubbed her hands, but a stubborn thin line inside her nails wouldn’t budge.

  Then it was back to the hole in the kitchen floor and down into the cell. Just like Dan. Was Dan being led to a cell because she’d failed to give her evidence in court? Together at last, captive, but in different prisons.

  He’d put a plate in her hand as he’d left her stranded in a sea of blackness and retreated up the stone steps. She’d removed the covering as the door banged shut and the bolt crashed violently. She’d waited for the glints of light, both of them. They were weaker than she remembered. Disappointing really. Then she’d eaten the food without tasting it. When she thought back later, she couldn’t remember what she’d eaten. It took fishing a piece of meat from her teeth to nudge that fact: a sandwich. Chicken, with cold salad. And a large helping of darkness.

  ***

  Henry had been in the treehouse for a while. How long, he didn’t know, but he’d have to return to the house. He mustered the strength to stand and made it to the door. The wooden ladders were slippery as Henry backed out of the treehouse and picked his way down the rungs to the soil. In a trance, he dodged the bushes and stumbled onto the drive and wandered slowly back to the house. Every step, he was surprised that his legs were holding him up.

  The sun was suffocating behind heavy clouds, losing the will to live. It would die and be buried beyond the horizon and be reborn in the morning. It promised to be a very dark night indeed.

  Henry didn’t know what he could do or should do, except watch and wait. Here again! His life had reduced to waiting in dark corners while others made moves. A joyless game of hide and seek where he was doing the hiding, not seeking. Naomi missing, and still he was forced to hide. What could be more paralysing or unnatural than that?

  All
this while Camilla was living a parallel life. Right now, she’d be cooking the dinner and buzzing round the kitchen, a bundle of energy. She imagined her family was whole again. The Stone brothers had gone, both of them. Naomi had fallen in line and suddenly, the clouds in Camilla’s skies had lifted. In her world, there was sunshine, energy, a new coat.

  Henry looked up at the house and at the lit windows punctuating the brickwork. His legs were moving, but the house didn’t appear to be getting any nearer. Maybe he didn’t want it to.

  Then, suddenly, his phone vibrated in his hand again. He stood still with the shock and looked down at the screen, illuminated in the darkness like the house windows. The perpetual game of hide and seek, and he’d been found again. So soon?

  Naomi’s name was staring up at him. The man holding Naomi wanted to speak to him again? After a few seconds of confusion, Henry answered the call and drifted away from the house.

  Exactly three minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Henry was back in the house with his chest thumping. He’d been instructed and knew exactly what he had to do now.

  ***

  Annabel flew at Henry in the hall, her face white, her eyes wide open.

  ‘Where’ve you been, Dad?’ she whispered.

  ‘You haven’t said anything to your mother?’

  ‘No. No! What’s going on? I'm sick with worry.’

  Henry pulled Annabel into the downstairs study and closed the door. ‘Listen, you don’t need to worry anymore, petal. You need to look after yourself.’

  ‘Never mind about me. What’s happening with Naomi? Have you had news?’ Her words were falling on top of each other.

  Henry nodded wearily. ‘I’ve spoken to Naomi.’

  ‘Spoken to her? Why isn’t she answering her phone to me?’

  ‘Don’t worry, flower. She’s OK. She’s OK!’ Henry’s eyes swam and he had a stab at a smile.

  Annabel’s face was a sketch of confusion. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She assured me she’s fine and told me not to worry.’

  ‘Fine?’ A pause. ‘What happened to her this morning?’

  Henry hesitated. ‘I’m not clear on the details, but she needs time on her own at the moment, understandably,’ Henry improvised. The lies were sticking in his throat.

  ‘So it’s true then, Mum’s version of events? She’s actually gone to Siobhan’s?’

  ‘She didn’t say where she was, petal. She’s having a bad time. Probably needs to come to terms with things. Best to leave her to her thoughts for the moment.’

  Henry couldn’t say any more. He really couldn’t. His throat was too clogged and tears were threatening. Annabel needed to stay strong, for her baby. He couldn’t allow her to be in a state of anxiety.

  Relief flooded Annabel’s face and she flung her arms around Henry’s neck and began to sob on his shoulder. ‘Oh thank goodness. I’ve been panicking and I couldn’t even say anything thing to Mum, and –’

  ‘I know,’ Henry said, rubbing her back up and down. ‘Shh. I know. Everything’s going to be OK.’

  Annabel continued to cling to him and Henry’s face felt fiery. He knew he’d flushed red. It was the colour of danger. The colour of guilt and dread and shame.

  16

  That night, when the house was still and the trees were restless outside, Henry left Camilla snoozing peacefully in bed. His clothes were ready in the bathroom. He put them on in the dark and crept through the bedroom, passing the bed where Camilla’s body was recharging, out of the door and down the stairs.

  He didn’t want to excite Shadow, who was asleep in his bed in the wet room, so he stepped carefully into the soft shoes he’d left in his study. His car was waiting at the front of the house. Henry exited the front door, gently closing it behind him, climbed into his car and crawled patiently out of the drive. It was one-thirty in the morning.

  His sat-nav took him to Ashton-under-Lyne, where he had a meeting. At two in the morning. The whole journey, he was battling with his thoughts. They were suggesting nasty things that ended in violence and he was trying to push them away. At five minutes to two, he turned up a narrow track that led past the occasional house and up a steep and stony lane. This was it, Hartshead Pike. Why here? He didn’t like how remote it was becoming. His imagination was stirring again and with it, the urge to visit the toilet.

  At the top of the lane there was a parked car. His car, if he wasn't mistaken. His Rolls Royce with a different number plate. Inside it was a lone figure, unmoving in the darkness.

  When he’d stopped beside the Roller, Vincent Solomon beckoned to him and Henry reluctantly got out of his Jaguar and wondered if there was a god or not, and if there was if he’d listen to an old fool. He decided probably not on both counts, and tentatively opened the door of the car, his car. He hadn’t seen her in a while, but any joy at the sight of her was swallowed up with the dread of this meeting.

  ‘Get in, Henry.’ Solomon continued to look forward, still as stone.

  Henry hesitated. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Nowhere.’

  Henry got in the car, but his instincts were warning him not to.

  ‘Why are we here?’

  ‘Because I needed to see you.’

  ‘Can’t we talk over the phone?’

  ‘I can’t see you over the phone, Henry. I can’t read you.’ He turned now, not just his head but his whole body. ‘Do face me. Please.’

  Face you?

  Solomon turned the lights on inside the car and Henry felt obliged to follow instructions. He twisted to face Solomon, mirroring his position.

  ‘See how I’ve taken good care of her for you.’

  ‘Good of you,’ Henry said.

  ‘And I’ll do the same with Naomi.’

  Henry could find no response to this.

  ‘This is where they sometimes met, you know.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Naomi and Dan.’ Solomon’s expression never faltered. ‘They’d meet like this late at night and dream about possibilities. Marriage, children, freedom. They own a pair of stars that Dan bought as a gift, did you know?’

  ‘Stars?’

  ‘Oh yes. You can buy and name them if you’re young and gullible enough.’

  ‘No, I’d no idea about any of it.’

  ‘Did you know they were engaged, Henry?’

  Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I’ve told you, no.’

  Solomon examined Henry. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘How do you think?’

  Henry sighed and his fists clenched. ‘Joel.’

  ‘Only Joel has been a very bad boy indeed. He told me too late, see, Henry. My own brother! It took Charlie going to the Maldives to open truth’s door, and then suddenly the light flooded in.’ He paused and looked out of the windscreen again. Only blackness lay beyond. ‘I went out there myself to confront Joel. You’d have enjoyed his face when he saw me there. And suddenly he’s only too willing to tell me anything I want to know. Miraculous! You know, I believe he’d have sold his own child to save his skin. That’s the kind of man he is.’

  His own child? Henry swallowed hard.

  Solomon’s eyes were on Henry again. ‘Have you missed her, Henry?’

  ‘Of course. I would die to get my daughter back.’

  ‘I meant the car.’

  ‘Oh! No,’ Henry said, which seemed to invite a thorough study of his face.

  ‘You’re lying. Let’s try again. Have you missed the car?’

  Solomon was scrutinising his every move. Henry tried not to move, which meant that he found he wasn’t breathing. He let out all his breath and sucked in air. ‘A little.’

  ‘Better. See, it did occur to me that you might be lying about Naomi having been taken. That this might be your way of sending me on a wild goose chase and screwing me for money, the way that I’ve screwed you.’ He slowly stroked the steering wheel.

  ‘Lying about Naomi? Do you rea
lly think –’

  ‘I can see you’re not lying, Henry, but I had to see it for myself. Just relax now. What did the guy say when he called you back?’

  ‘He wants to exchange tomorrow night. He wants part cash. I don’t have that kind of money at short notice.’

  ‘Let me worry about the money. What did he say exactly? Verbatim please.’

  Henry took a deep breath. ‘His exact words were: Exchange, Saturday night. Midnight. Have 50k in a plain rucksack. The rest, be ready to wire. Come alone. Disused railway. Meeting point: Cadishead Bridge.’

  Silence. Solomon watched intently and waited. ‘There was more. What are you not telling me?’

  Henry shook his head. It was as if Solomon could unwrap his thoughts and see them. His armpits felt wet now. ‘I don’t want to say it.’ He wiped his forehead. Despite the chilly night, he was perspiring all over.

  ‘I don’t care what you want,’ Solomon said calmly. ‘Say it.’

  Henry looked down.

  ‘Look at me.’

  So Henry did. He paused for a long time, gathering himself. ‘He said that if I fail, he’d have Naomi instead. No second chances.’

  ‘Have her?’ Solomon’s eyes were shifting slightly from side to side. ‘Have her in what way?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t want to know,’ Henry said, lowering his gaze. It felt surprisingly hard to sustain eye contact. ‘I only know I have to get her back. D’you have any idea how torturous this is?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Which is why I’m going to do the exchange tomorrow – so it doesn’t fail.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘I can and will. You have no experience, Henry. You’ll screw up. I can’t allow it.’

  ‘I'm her father! He’ll be expecting me,’ Henry protested.

  ‘Not if it’s who I think it is.’

  Henry’s heart drummed faster. ‘What do you mean?’

  Solomon narrowed his eyes. ‘I’ve been doing my homework. I’m a thorough kind of man. There’s this guy called Reggie Janes. Released from Strangeways in the last month. Contacts of mine report that he’s a heroin user. Not much he won’t do for the next fix. But he’s not a violent man, in his right mind.’